Crime 101 is a precision-engineered masterpiece and the best heist movie in a decade

Rating: ★★★★★

Written by: Denise Breen

There is a specific kind of cinematic magic that occurs when a film doesn't try to reinvent the wheel, but instead polishes that wheel until it reflects the golden age of Hollywood. Crime 101 is exactly that: a sleek, high-octane, and deeply intelligent heist thriller that feels like a spiritual successor to the grit of the 70s and the coolness of the 90s. While other modern action films rely on CGI bloat and multiversal stakes, Crime 101 grounds itself in the tactile reality of burning rubber, whispered schemes, and the heavy weight of a silver coin. It is, quite simply, the best heist film we’ve seen in a decade.

The film is based on Don Winslow's 2020 novella of the same name (found in his collection titled Broken). Winslow is famous for his gritty, meticulously researched crime epics like The Cartel and The Force, and Crime 101 was essentially his "love letter" to the classic heist movies of the 70s. Because the source material is a novella rather than a massive novel, director Bart Layton had a lot of room to expand the world and lean into the Steve McQueen aesthetics that he clearly loves.

From the opening frame, Layton signals his intentions. This isn't just a movie; it’s a tribute to Steve McQueen. The DNA of Bullitt and The Getaway runs through the film’s veins. It’s an "old-fashioned" heist movie in the best sense—relying on tension, practical stunts, and the charisma of men and women who know exactly how dangerous they are. The most overt nod to the "King of Cool" is, of course, the Highland Green Ford Mustang. When that engine roars to life, it isn't just fan service; it’s a character in its own right.

A heist movie is only as good as the crew, and Crime 101 boasts perhaps the most formidable ensemble cast of the mid-2020s. The chemistry here is combustible, moving between professional respect and underlying menace with razor-sharp precision. The cast alone is worth the price of admission.

Forget the hammer-wielding god of old. Here, Chris Hemsworth is lean, calculated, and dangerously understated. He plays the "pro" with a quiet intensity, channeling a classic leading-man energy that proves he is at his best when he trades the cape for a tailored suit and a getaway plan. Mark Ruffalo is the film's moral (and sometimes immoral) compass. As the detective obsessed with the string of "Crime 101" robberies, he brings a rumpled, lived-in exhaustion to the role. The role could have been a caricature but Ruffalo has seen Columbo and knows how to do this. His scenes are a masterclass in the "procedural" side of the genre.

Halle Berry radiates authority and elegance. As the one who bridges the gap between the underworld and the high-society targets, she provides the film’s tactical spine. Her performance is a reminder of her incredible range; she is the coolest person in every room she enters and she scores one for all working women who have hit a corporate glass ceiling, or who have been used.

Every heist needs a fuse that might blow, and Barry Keoghan is magnificent. He brings that unpredictable, twitchy energy that he does so well. It keeps the audience—and his fellow characters—constantly on edge. You never quite know if he’s the genius or the liability, and Keoghan plays that ambiguity like a fiddle. Unlike our other leads, Keoghan's character doesn't get a back story.

In a casting stroke of genius, Nick Nolte appears as the veteran mentor—a man whose face looks like the proverbial map of every bad decision he’s ever made. His gravelly voice and weary eyes provides some gravitas, acting as a bridge to the very 70s cinema the film seeks to honour. I would have liked to understand his character better. Like Keoghan's character there is no backstory

What makes Crime 101 a 5-star experience is its commitment to the process. The film honours the "101" of the title. We see the casing of the joints, the meticulous timing of the police response, the changing of the plates, and the cold, hard logic of the score. There are no hackers typing "access granted" in three seconds; there is only sweat, mechanical skill, and the agonizing ticking of a watch as heists are planned up and down Highay 101 in California.

The heist sequences themselves are choreographed with a clarity that is rare in modern cinema. You always know where the players are, what the stakes are, and exactly how much time is left before the world collapses on them. The tension is built through silence and the sound of breathing, rather than an overbearing orchestral score.

Unlike the hollow chill of many recent adaptations (one only has to look at the recent, tepid "Wuthering Heights" to see the difference), Crime 101 has a pulse. There is a palpable sense of the stakes. These characters have something to lose—not the world, but their freedom, their reputations, and their lives. The rivalry between Hemsworth’s thief and Ruffalo’s detective is built on mutual, begrudging respect, reminiscent of the Pacino/De Niro dynamic in Heat. Their conversation in the car about classic cars and Steve McQueen films is a delight.

The film understands that a great heist movie isn't really about the money; it’s about the work. It’s about being the best at something, even if that something is illegal.

For me, Crime 101 is a triumph of both style and substance. It manages to be a high-octane thriller while remaining a character-driven drama. With its nods to Steve McQueen, its iconic Green Mustang, and a cast that delivers career-best work, it is a definitive entry into the heist genre. It’s cool, it’s confident, and it’s utterly unmissable.

If you have any love for the "Old Hollywood" way of making movies—where the cars are real, the stakes are high, and the actors are legends—then Crime 101 is the film you’ve been waiting for.